An Old Wife's Tale
by apiratesmile
Summary: As hard as it was for Sakumo to grow up the son of the Second Hokage, it was even harder for Saiya to be his wife. Follow their lives before and after his death.
1. An Old Wife Remembers

This story is predominantly about Sakumo and his mother (my character) Saiya, trying to move on after the death of the Second Hokage. The story is told in a flashback, which in turn has its own flashbacks. Consider this a Flashback Inception.

It has been a personal goal of mine to write a female character that comes across as strong, vulnerable, independent, weak, gutsy and fragile (in other words, a realistic female character). Perhaps I have succeeded in my endeavor, perhaps not. But as always: comments, criticism and applause are welcome.

Kushina stared into a sea of wrinkles and stern faces. The heavy smell of wisdom and aged perfume choked the air, but she endured it with a stoicism few knew she possessed. Three great women sat across the table from her—taking her measure. Two, she knew well. Biwako sat directly across from her, the stern frown indenting two lines into her cheeks. Mito sat to Biwako's right, crippled with great age and a long illness. Despite this, her milky eyes still held a great kindness and she still clung to a regal bearing. The woman sitting to Biwako's left looked equally as old, with her back curved and cheeks long and hollow. Her face was turned from Kushina, her attention focused on whatever lay beyond the window. She looked as if she had already passed on into the next life—there was a wispiness about her that reminded Kushina of a ghost.

The woman seemed so familiar to her and yet…she couldn't place it.

"Uzumaki Kushina," Biwako began, folding her hands sternly beneath her chin. "You stand as the next hokage's wife—a position that comes with a great deal of responsibility."

"I understand, Lady Biwako," Kushina acknowledged politely, hoping she gave off the impression of one who was indeed responsible. But by the skeptical look Biwako was giving her, she doubted she pulled it off.

"No," Biwako said, flatly. "I do not think you do."

The older woman continued. "You are being placed in a position where all eyes of the village will be upon you. Your actions will now have consequences for your people. Your looks, you words and your decisions will be closely scrutinized by the council. To be the lady of this village you must be strong—and I have my doubts that you have what it takes."

Kushina breathed in carefully, trying to keep the hurt hidden behind an impassive mask. "Have I done something to make you think so, Lady Biwako?" she asked, the words hissed through gritted teeth.

Biwako tapped meaningfully on a stuffed folder that threatened to burst from the number of papers crammed into its hold. "Where shall I begin?"

"Enough, Biwako." A soft voice commanded, although the words carried as much force as a breath. "We did not come here to scrutinize the girl."

Kushina blinked appreciatively at the strange, old woman but she did not appear to notice. The woman's eyes had already returned to the blue sky just beyond the window.

"I agree with Saiya," Mito sighed, granting the girl an affectionate smile. "We are here to offer her council—as we once did for you, Biwako."

Biwako held the expression of any toddler who had just been reprimanded by a scolding parent, with her lips pressed tightly together and the two wrinkles on her cheeks becoming even more pronounced.

"Very well then," she huffed, reshuffling the papers in the file.

"Do you have questions, child?" Mito asked, kindly.

_Questions?_ Kushina thought sardonically. _Only a couple million._

"What am I supposed to do?" She asked finally, the words so uncharacteristically meek.

"You are there for the hokage," Mito said, clasping her wrinkle worn hands together on her small lap. "He carries the weight of the village on his shoulders and you are there to stand beside him and take on the burdens he cannot carry."

She made the position sound so lofty. So noble. But is that not what any woman would do for the man she loves?

"You will help him make decisions," Biwako added. "You have no position on the council and no official say in the village, but you will be the hokage's most trusted confidant."

"The village is as much in your hands as it is in Minato's," Mito said solemnly.

Kushina was not a woman easily overwhelmed—she would never had made a good container for the Kyuubi if she had been—and yet she felt as if the walls were slowly closing in around her. What would they think if she had a panic attack? She didn't think it was possible to fall any lower in Biwako's opinion, but she wasn't willing to risk finding out.

"This meeting has gone on long enough," the same wispy voice floated out. "I am tired."

Biwako's eyes bulged. "We have only just started!"

"We are wasting our time here," Saiya said, rising from the chair with the slowness of the dead.

So this woman wasn't on her side either, Kushina thought bitterly.

The woman stared steadily at Kushina, her eyes sparkling gold, the only thing untouched by the dullness of age. "You can't _teach_ someone to be the wife of a hokage."

It then clicked with an embarrassing slowness just who this woman must be. Kuroki Saiya. The wife of the second hokage. Kushina watched her leave with her mouth slightly ajar. She had never seen the second's wife before. The woman was a notorious recluse. Which was fine by the villagers, who did not seem to share the same love for Saiya as they did for Mito.

Biwako looked agitatedly at the door as it clicked with a defiant finality.

Mito covered her mouth politely, trying to disguise the fatigue that showed everywhere else on her body. "I am afraid I had a long day. You will have to forgive these old bones. Perhaps we can continue another time," she said. "Kushina will not learn everything in a day."

Biwako begrudgingly agreed to end the meeting.

She gratefully left the women and the stuffy room for the comfort of the open night sky and the bustling of the village. Was this to be her life now? Boring meetings with people who will never see her as being good enough?

It was early evening. She doubted Minato would be home anytime soon. Kushina looked dully down the street, searching for some excuse not to return to the empty apartment. Her excuse appeared in the shape of the old woman, whose fragile bent frame appeared through a crack in the crowd of the street. She had the mystifying urge to follow this Old Saiya. She could just imagine the look of reproach Minato would give her if he found out—but the keyword was _if_.

It wasn't difficult to catch up with the old woman. She was still ambling her way down the street, each step a painful, carefully considered motion. Kushina was mindful to stay well behind the elder, just in case the old girl still clung onto some of her old kunoichi skills. It occurred to her, as she followed the woman from a distance, that there was no real reason to follow this woman.

Perhaps the only reason she had looked so familiar was because they had simply passed each other on the street one morning. But then she caught a glimpse of the woman's reflection in a store window and she knew in her gut that it was more then that. There was something incredibly familiar about her but damn if she knew what it was.

They ended up on one of the less traveled streets, filled with tired shops and worn-out civilians. The woman stopped just outside a dark teashop—staring thoughtfully at the empty room through the old glass.

Kushina took a few steps out, standing directly behind the old woman, trying to see what held the old woman's attention so adamantly.

"This is the problem with you shinobi," the woman sighed unexpectedly, causing Kushina to jump a foot in the air. "You think because our senses are not at good as yours we must be blind, deaf and dumb."

"I'm sorry," Kushina said, slightly taken aback. She had naturally assumed this woman knew about her presence—had this woman not been a ninja?

"Why are you following me?" She asked slowly, her tone not angry, simply curious.

Kushina's cheeks glowed red with embarrassment. "I don't know," she answered truthfully. "It's kinda hard to explain. I just feel like—like I have seen you somewhere before. Or like we met a long time ago."

The woman huffed at her stuttered excuse, digging deep within the folds of her pocket for a key. "Well I suppose as long as you are here, you could come up for a cup of tea."

"Thank you," Kushina said automatically. This had been more then she had hoped for. The old woman led her up the stairs, to the apartment above the shop, with a slowness that would have tested the patience of Buddha.

"You live here?" She asked when she entered, unable to believe the village would allow one of their hokage's wives to live in such a cramped little apartment.

"I lived here for quite some time with my husband," she said, looking fondly around the tight walls.

"You mean the nidaime lived here!?" She looked around for some redeeming quality in the place—searching for a sign one of the world's greatest shinobi's had walked in these cramped halls.

The old woman gave a gleeful cackle. "No. I lived here with my second husband, Riku."

Kushina stiffened in place. "You—you remarried?"

She could not understand why but the idea horrified her. She did not know this woman—she had no right to judge, but… how could she? If Minato died before her—the idea made her shudder—she would never allow him to do that. But even if he did, from the bottom of her soul she knew, there was no man alive that would replace him, not even if she scoured the universe for him.

"Such judgment in those pretty eyes," the old woman noted, unbothered. It was a look she had long grown accustomed to. "That's how you get wrinkles."

"Why?" She asked, the question slipping out before she had time to snatch it back.

"Why do we get wrinkles?" The woman repeated, thinking it over with serious consideration. "Gods, I do not know. I would be so much happier if my cheeks were as tight as yours again."

Kushina scowled at the teasing. "That's not what I meant."

"Oh so you _meant_ to ask an extremely personal question of an old woman you barely know?" The old woman eyed her levelly, eyes staring with the perfectly calculated stare of disapproval.

Kushina felt a deep blush explode over her cheeks. Why had she been cursed with such a big mouth?

"Sorry," she mumbled, embarrassment burrowing into her chest. If she could not even talk to this little old lady without making a fool out of herself how could she be expected to speak to diplomats and dignitaries?

The old woman's eyes softened to a warm gold. It had been a lifetime ago but she remembered feeling the same uncertainty—the same feeling that she had failed before even trying.

"I was not raised in the village or in any ninja clan. I was a waif of a girl with nothing. No family, no money and no skills. I had never belonged to anything and nothing had ever belonged to me. Tobirama brought me to his new village and soon enough it became my village. For the first time in my life I had friends, a family and a place where I belonged." The old woman's wrinkles deepened into a smile at the memory.

"But I suppose just as quickly as things are given to you—they are taken away. My husband was killed suddenly, the council tried to take my son from me and I became a young, useless widow who really had nothing to contribute to a village my husband had given everything to. When Riku came into my life, it felt like I belonged somewhere again."

As she spoke she nodded her head to a fireplace mantel, where a row of pictures sat neatly framed. One picture in particular grabbed her attention. A young, pretty woman was kissing the cheeks of a mortified looking Kakashi. Kushina moved closer to the mantel to get a better look at the picture.

Suddenly, it made sense. The disgruntled looking boy certainly could have passed off as a mask-less Kakashi but she should have recognized those eyes.

"That's why you look so familiar," Kushina said her excitement turning the words into a shout. "You're Sakumo-sensei's mother!"

The woman frowned. "I was."

Kushina looked back in awe at her young sensei and then to the portrait set lovingly next to it. The same woman stood with her arms on her proud looking son's shoulder and there, resting a hand on the boy's head, stood the proud-looking second hokage. She felt like an idiot for not noticing her teacher's striking resemblance to the Second. How many times had she stood looking at the portraits in the hokage's office, awaiting a reprimand for her latest prank? How had she not noticed that they shared the same hair, the same masculine structure in their chin? The only thing that seemed to set them apart was where the Second's eyes were a glaring garnet, her own teacher's had been a warm, melted amber. Why had her sensei never said anything about being the son of the second hokage? Would he have told her if he had had more time?

"Why didn't you come to the funeral?" She asked suddenly, the excitement dispersing and her notorious quick temper flaring up as she remembered the horrible day of her sensei's empty funeral. The day she had thought her sensei had no other family then the son he left behind.

"I saw no reason to go," she answered simply, shrugging the matter off as if she had only forgotten to pick up a few things from the store. Kushina's hands curled into fists. Her sensei did not deserve such callousness. Not from the village, not from his teammates and certainly not from his own family.

"So you disowned him," she growled. "Because he saved his teammates instead of completing the mission."

"You think I disowned him for that?" The woman cackled, a terrible, angry sound. "He could have burned this village to the ground and I could not have cared!"

"Then why…"

"Because he went and did something far worse." The old woman's eyes were suddenly dark like cold ore in the earth. "He threw away the life I gave him and the life his father died to protect and I cannot forgive him for that."

Saiya looked down, obviously noting the redhead's furiously shaking fists.

"You are not a mother," she said steadily. "I cannot expect you to understand my feelings."

"I think I understand you perfectly," Kushina spat. "You are a heartless old crone! As soon as your husband dies, you move on to the next available man. Your son makes one slip up and suddenly you don't have a son! All you can think about are your own feelings—no wonder everyone in this village hates you! You're selfish, rude and arrogant! You didn't deserve to be the hokage's wife!"

Saiya blinked back at the young woman's anger with an eerie calmness. "You are saying things of which I already know, child. I have lived my entire life being judged by others."

"As I imagine, you have, as well," Saiya added, leveling her eyes at the Kyubbi container. Kushina lowered her eyes, folding her arms tightly around herself.

"I know you are scared," she continued. "I know you think you are not good enough. And I know it seems impossible to prove everyone wrong."

She sighed pausing for a moment to look out the window as if the words for her feelings could be found, out in the starry night.

"I am the last person you should come to with questions on how to be a hokage's wife," she said, finally. "But I do want to help you. I understand why you must hate me and I have no speech, that I can think of, that will change that. But I would like you to understand my choices because these are the choices you may have to make someday."

Kushina looked the woman up and down curiously. She seemed as solid as an apparition but there was no denying there was still a hard flint in her eyes. Kushina looked uncomfortably around the small apartment, silently wondering what she was supposed to do.

"Will you sit down and listen to my story?" The old woman asked, steadily.

Kushina looked over the photos once more, an undeniable curiosity growing larger in her chest. Saiya must have noticed, as she settled deeper into her chair and began:

"The first year was hard—very hard."

Listen, I know Mito would not be alive when Kushina becomes the Kyuubi container and undoubtedly events may not be completely consistent with the manga or anime, but hopefully that does not completely put you off the story.


	2. Memories in a Tea Leaf

When the haze of her husband's death began to slowly evaporate from Saiya's mind, she began to notice the little signs of eminent danger creeping toward her. The council began to drop small hints and pass along meaningful looks in her direction.

Would it not be best if another strong ninja clan took Sakumo into their care, they asked. Wouldn't that be best for the young genius?

It was the cruelest thing she could have ever imagined—but the council was not created to be kind. It was made to function and having the great Senju line die out would just not do.

It would be a slap in the face to any mother; being told she could not give everything her son needed. In the eyes of the council, she could not protect and teach him the way a _kunoichi_ mother could. In their eyes, she was not good enough to raise the son of the Second.

It was for the best, they said. The hokage's enemies must forget he ever had a family.

She wondered how anyone could forget Sakumo was Tobirama's son. It was clear as day. Tobirama was in his sharp features, his proud stance, and his economical movements. Surely, the only thing that would be forgotten was the fact she had been the woman to give birth to him.

The threat of the council taking her son away turned her mind numb with fear. She spent most of the seemingly endless days walking aimlessly around the village, unwilling to spend any more time in the great empty house then she had to. Rarely did she enter any of the growing shops or acknowledge any of the eager merchants that had traveled from all points of the country to enjoy the blossoming economy of the village. So she was rather surprised when her feet led her into a small teashop nestled snuggly between a flower shop and a spice tradesman.

The shop had a quiet array of customers enjoying their tea in companionable silence. No one raised their head to acknowledge her presence and she found she rather enjoyed the anonymity compared to the glances of pity she was regularly given. She took a seat at a small empty chair and gave a sigh of pleasure as the pressure was taken off her feet. Only thirty and she felt like an old woman.

"Here you go," a warm voice said accompanied by a lazily, steaming pot of tea. She blinked up in surprise at the sudden presence of the stranger. Despite the fact her husband and son were shinobi she had never grown accustomed to being snuck up on.

"But I didn't order anything," she said politely, wondering if he had simply made an honest mistake.

"It's jasmine-tea," he continued, pouring the tea into a cup as if he had not heard her. "It helps lift the spirit."

"Is that true?" She asked, doubtingly peering into the cup.

The man shrugged. "As much as cup of tea can, I suppose. If you listen to my uncle you would think tea could cure anything."

She looked up thoughtfully from the cup to the man who stood over her. He was thin, very thin. Like a light breeze would send him tumbling over. His hair and his eyes were just an ordinary brown. She supposed he could be considered handsome but there was something about his uneven smile and wide eyes that made him seem less so.

"What makes you think I need my spirits lifted?" She asked, curiously. It was a stupid question, she knew. Everything about her was gloomy. You did not have to be a genius to see it and, as the widow of the Second, it would be a crime for her not to spend the rest of her life in mourning.

"A pretty girl like you should be out dancing in the sun, not sitting in this old, gloomy place. What's the matter? Did a boy break your heart?"

The idea nearly made her choke on the tea. As a mother and figurehead of the village, it had been quite sometime since anyone had called her a _girl_.

"Have you lived in the village long?" She asked, wondering if she had the unfortunate coincidence to be conversing with the one man in the village who lived under a rock.

"Avoiding the question, huh," he noted good naturedly, placing his hands lazily on his hips. "I just moved here from a farm on the outskirts. Uncle Akira is getting old and needs help running the shop."

"That's kind of you," she complimented, taking another sip of tea.

"It is isn't it," he said, the uneven smile broadening across his face. "Especially since this place takes some getting used to."

"You don't like it here?" She blinked, surprised.

"Well it's not the farm," he admitted honestly. "And it's kind of a little intimidating with all these shinobi walking around. Makes it kind of hard to find a girl when all they have eyes for are the big, strapping shinobi showing off on the practice field."

"So you're looking for a wife," she smiled, smugly resting her chin in her palm.

"Well sure," he laughed. "I need someone to help me work on the farm."

"I can't believe such a romantic as you is having such a hard time finding a girl," she said wryly.

"I am just as baffled as you, milady," he grinned, his tone like a forlorn actor. She had almost managed to forget for a moment—but that simple word had brought her crashing back to reality. She was not a carefree young girl. She was a woman in mourning.

"I should go. Thank you for the tea," she said quickly, reaching for her money but the man held up his hand to stop her.

"I would consider it an insult to take money from such a pretty thing." He said standing a little straighter, as if to give an air of reproach.

She gave a grateful smile before leaving the shop.

The shinobi with the mask of a bear watched the woman leave the shop. The empty eyes of the mask stared thoughtfully at the shop and then returned to their steady watch of the Second's wife. As he casually followed above her on the roofline he tried to remember the last time he had seen her wear a smile.

She lay awake in one of the many bedrooms of the house, staring with dead eyes at the empty ceiling. She had had so many plans for this house. The bedrooms were meant for their children. She had wanted a litter of children—a huge family like the one she never had. But Tobirama had been away at war for the first part of their marriage and had no time to slow down when he had become hokage. Looking back, it was a miracle Sakumo had been born at all.

AbAbAbAbAbAbAbAbAbAbAbAb

She was caught in a perpetual feeling of exhaustion and happiness. She could not remember ever feeling such a weightless happiness and all because of the sleeping bundle that snuggled so naturally into her breast. The council members had finally left after voicing their approval of the birth of a son. They even went so far as acknowledge her presence and, in their opinion, her small contribution to his birth. The midwives had left to clean the linens and for the first time she was alone with her firstborn.

"Hello puppy," she cooed, petting the soft down of light hair that was already falling over his head like long puppy ears. "I'm afraid I'm your mother, but I promise you I will be the best mother I can be. Just be patient with me."

The newborn snuggled closer, responding to the soft sound of her voice. It did not seem like he minded she was not good enough to be his mother.

"You're going to look just like your father," she predicted, smiling at the already unruly white hair. "You haven't met him yet, but I promise you will like him."

"Let's hope so," a voice said tiredly from the doorway.

She jumped at the sound of her husband's voice and the infant, immediately sensing a change, began to fuss.

"Although that's not a good sign." He said moving to her side and kissing the top of her head.

"You're back," she breathed, taking in his dirty clothes and exhausted eyes.

"A messenger was sent out to the camp," he explained. "I came as soon…"

Tobirama was not a man who was distracted easily—he was a calm and focused opponent on and off the battlefield but, when the auburn eyes caught sight of the tiny face that lay so preciously in the blankets, he forgot his words.

She looked proudly at her husband, watching him entranced by their small child. She had never seen him allow so much emotion on his face. He was completely awe-struck by the child.

"Would you like to hold him?" She smiled, already holding the bundle out to him. Tobirama wordlessly took him, engulfing the newborn in his sturdy arms. Father and son locked eyes for a long moment.

"Good," he said, finally. "He has your eyes."

AbAbAbAbAbAbAbAbAbAbAbAb

It was not until a week later that she saw the tall, thin man again. Once again she was walking aimlessly through the village streets with no place in mind and nothing but blank thoughts and yet somehow she ended up inside the little teashop once more.

She took a moment to look around the little teashop. The same people sat in the same places as before, giving the impression they never left the shop at all. It was a truly simple shop, one might even go so far as to call it shabby. There was really no reason for her to return here and yet the reason appeared just as she settled down at a table.

"I knew you'd be back," he grinned, his mouth just as uneven as it had been before.

"You did?" She blinked. _She_ had not even known she would be back.

"Well I had hoped at least," he said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. She watched the movement with a silent fascination. Tobirama had never made a move without careful calculation. He had deemed unnecessary movement as a waste of energy and such a lacksidasical motion had never been in his nature.

"You did?" She repeated, her voice raised a little higher then necessary.

"Sure! You think it's any fun serving these old geezers?" he said, pointing his thumb to the sleepy crowd of the shop.

"No," she smiled. "I suppose not."

"You know you're quite pretty when you smile," he said, the words slipping out as easily as if he complimented the warm weather.

"Do you know who I am?" She asked, wondering where he had inherited such forwardness.

"A gypsy princess," he said, with a solemn certainty. "Come to the Hidden Leaf Village to ask the hokage to save your people from a hoard of bandits."

She gave a snort, a habit she had thought she had abandoned a long time ago.

"What gave it away?" she asked, playing along.

"You are far too exotic for this place," he said tilting his head toward the window. It was true. Compared to even the tannest face in the village she was still a shade darker. Her eyes held the sharp shape of an almond and eyes a shade of brown often mistaken for gold. But that did not make her exotic. It was simply one more reason why she was not a part of the village.

"Very well," she said, raising her head regally. "You know who I am, but I do not know who you are."

"You can call me Riku, princess," he said, giving her a gallant bow. She looked embarrassedly around the little teashop but they all seemed quietly engrossed in their tea. "Does the fair princess have a name?"

"I'm not a princess," she said in a mortified tone. "But you may call me Saiya."

"Well since we know each other so well now, Saiya," he said, boldly sitting in the seat across from her. "Why don't you tell me why you always come in here with such a sad look on your pretty face."

She stirred her cup thoughtfully, buying a moment to think. "I suppose there are a lot of reasons," she said finally.

"You couldn't possibly have lived long enough to have so much sadness," he exclaimed.

"How old do you think I am?" she asked, genuinely curious. She felt like she had lived a hundred lifetimes and looked twice as old as that.

"You're not a day over twenty," he said, his voice sounded so honest and yet she knew he must be teasing her.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-five," he grinned with the obvious expectation that she should be impressed. Gods he was only five years younger then her and yet she felt like they were a hundred years apart. It felt almost obscene to be talking with him, but she had no desire to leave.

"Do you plan on running the teashop after your uncle? She asked, looking over at the man behind the counter who looked a breath away from death.

Riku crinkled his nose with a genuine look of disgust at the idea. "I plan on returning to our farm as soon as I can."

"So the village has not grown on you," she teased, taking a long sip of the cooling tea.

"I don't know," he gave a noncommittal shrug. "The shinobi act like they are so much better then everyone else. Ever notice that?"

"In some more then others I suppose," she said vaguely, remembering the disapproving council.

Riku quirked an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you're one of those girls who gets all drooly over a guy just because he can throw a knife."

"They're called kunai," she corrected without meaning to.

Riku slapped a hand comically to his head. "Oh gods you _are_ one of those girls! And you seemed so normal."

She wondered when a good time would be to tell him she had not only married a shinobi, but also given birth to one.

"For your information," she sniffed huffily. "I have never been _drooly_ over anyone."

AbAbAbAbAbAbAbAbAbAbAbAb

A small crowd had gathered around her, tapping their feet to the steady drum as she kept in time with the whirling notes of the shinobue. They were mostly peasants, eager for a distraction from the backbreaking toil of working the fields all day, and she happily obliged them. Her hips matched the quickening pace of the drum and she closed her eyes for a moment imagining herself dancing before the feudal lord on a stage of marble, instead of outside the palace gates on this small, dirt road. A few wolfish whistles broke through the music, a group of soldiers had joined the crowd, but she hardly spared them a glance. The tempo grew faster, but she had long mastered this dance and her feet continued in a beautiful pattern, rising and falling with a speed of summer lightning.

And just as quickly as the music had appeared, it died away and she acknowledged its end with a respectful flourish. The familiar sound of light claps met her ears and she smiled appreciatively, until the most enthusiastic clapping she had ever heard toppled them into silence.

"Well done!" A voice boomed, from the back of the crowd. "Spectacular!"

The crowd parted, curious to see who could possibly be so enthusiastic about a common street performer. A tall man was revealed in the back, though no one could remember him joining the crowd. His skin was dark from the touch of the sun and his hair fell like black silk over his impressive armor. He bore the headband of a shinobi but the peasants looked doubtful that such a loud man could be a stealthy ninja.

"Brother!" he shouted over his shoulder. "You must come see this!"

She saw a white cloud of hair before she saw anything else. A small gap between the crowd allowed her to catch a glimpse of the flamboyant man's brother. She had preformed so many times that she hardly ever lost her breath anymore but at the sight of the man she suddenly had no air.

He stood at the same height as his brother but where his brother was dark he was light. From the impossible pure white of his feathery hair to the alabaster skin that seemed unaffected by the pounding sun. There was an aloof air of authority around him and you could see in the eyes of the peasants there was little doubt that this man was indeed a shinobi.

The musicians stretched their fingers and began again to whittle music from the tired instruments. Saiya prepared to dance her heart out for him, but he spared her no more then a sideways glance and continued walking. "We're late."

The darker brother shrugged, obviously used to his brother's indifference. He reached into his pocket and tossed a handful of coins into the worn bowl at her feet.

"Thank you," he shouted, as he followed his brother away. "For such an enjoyable performance!"

She had given a curt nod and continued with the dance, silently seething.

Later in the evening, when her small band had left to spend their shares of the fortune on sake, she walked alone down the street staring distastefully around at the overbearing walls and buildings of the feudal lord's city. Did these people actually enjoy the cramped little hovels they had to return to every night? She stopped and stared longingly up at the night sky. She doubted she would be able to breath again until they were far from the city and out in open country.

"Look Kuro!" A voice said suddenly, sending a quick jerk of panic down her spine. "I found the little gypsy from this morning."

Saiya turned to see a soldier walking eagerly toward her. She took a step back only to run into the man the soldier called Kuro. He grabbed on tight to her shoulders, making it impossible to run.

"If you ignore the dirt she could be kind of pretty," he breathed against her ear.

"Sure," the other soldier agreed, moving uncomfortably close to her face.

"Let me go," she hissed struggling against the man's grip but it was like an ant trying to break an ocean wave.

"Why in such a rush, pretty? You got someone else to fuck?" The soldier asked, eyeing her breasts like a dog would a hanging piece of meat.

"Get away from me!" She snapped, lifting her leg to kick him away, but he simply caught it and raised it up higher.

"Lets see if the rest of you is just as—"

Saiya shut her eyes not wanting to look at his wolfish face but an agonizing cry cut out by a sudden, sharp silence forced her eyes open. Saiya blinked in surprise. The man had simply disappeared.

"Sho?" The man called dumbly to the empty street. She felt his grip around her loosen for a moment and she quickly broke free, making to run to the nearest lighted house. But the soldier was fast, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back into his grasp.

"What did you do with, Sho?" He snarled, his grip tightening painfully around her arms.

"Nothing!" She sputtered, looking wildly around for help but the street remained empty.

"Don't lie, you little witch," he roared, raising his heavyset arm to clout her. She instinctively flinched, waiting for the inevitable blow…but it never came.

A moment passed before she braved looking up to see what had delayed the blow. Her eyes widened at the sight of a single white hand holding her attacker's fist in its patient palm. Kuro gave a strangled gasp.

"I thought, perhaps, you would be smart enough to take the hint after your friend disappeared," a deep voice said agitatedly. Saiya looked to her right to see the owner of the voice but all she could see was fluffy white.

"But I suppose that is too much to expect of a low-life like you," the voice hardened with every syllable. She had been watching the white fluff the entire time and yet, as her attacker fell like he had been punched in the gut, she could have sworn that she hardly saw him move.

It was obvious that the only thing that had kept her standing during the entire ordeal was her attacker and as he fell backwards, she shakily stumbled away. The soldier gave the same horrified shriek as his partner and the same abrupt silence sharply cut him off.

Tobirama braced for the inevitable screaming and the horrified tears that were sure to burst forth from those lovely eyes at any moment. A long, heavy minute passed and still there was nothing but the silence of the night. He turned his head slightly to make sure the girl had not simply fainted from the ordeal.

The girl was neither lying on the ground nor trembling on her knees. Instead, she stood on steady legs silently staring down at the still body. There was no vindictiveness in the golden pools. There was no horror or shock or even triumph. They were solid and steady. They were the eyes of someone who knew how this harsh world worked.

"Thank you," she said eventually, the voice sturdy but grateful.

"Why would you walk out here alone?" He asked, his tone making it sound as if she was the dimmest girl in the world—though in hindsight perhaps she was.

"I needed some air," she said, feeling irrevocably senseless as she said it. He looked her up and down for a moment, they were not full of lust or even a simple appreciation they were simply calculative and alert. Like a tiger's eyes, she thought.

"You should go home," he said, crossing his arms with an expected obedience.

She peered to look behind him at her dead attacker, but he swiftly blocked her view.

"Now," he said, firmly.

"Why did you kill him?" She asked, her voice surprisingly steady. She might have just as well asked what he thought of the unseasonably warm weather.

"Would you have preferred I let him go?" the shinobi asked, his mouth quirking slightly at the edges.

"No," she said slowly, still trying to wrap her head around the fact that the man, who had been alive only moments before, was suddenly dead.

"Well that did not leave me many other options," he said, the steely edge of the words signaling an end to the subject. "Lets get you home."

She could not help but begrudgingly notice, he spoke to her like a child but, though she was sixteen, he surely could not be _that_ much older then her.

"Do you have a name, shinobi?" She asked, as they came to the inn. The man stopped short, calculating her once more before answering.

"Tobirama," he said, turning to walk away. She smiled listlessly as he walked, only for him to suddenly pause in his stride.

"Well?" He said, turning his head slightly.

"What?" She asked dumbly.

"Aren't you going to tell me yours?"

She gave a short snort of laughter at her own stupidity. "Saiya."

He paused a moment, as if he was slowly thinking the name over. Finally, he looked up at her with an unexpected glint in his garnet eyes. "Goodnight…Saiya."

She had lain on her mat that night and for the first time she did not mind the lowness of the ceiling or the tightness of the walls. It did not matter because she was flying.

AbAbAbAbAbAbAbAbAbAbAbAb

Saiya looked steadily at her tea trying to recall what that feeling of flying felt like but the memory was useless, unable to compare with the actual sensation. She cradled the cup of tea gently in her hands, noting the china had grown cold with the tea.

"I should go," she said, setting the cup down gently. As before, Riku waved her money away with a look of mock insult

Riku watched the woman go with a thoughtful expression. What had happened that could make such pretty eyes become so aged and empty?

Well? What did you think?


	3. Eggplants

"They're sending me out on a mission tomorrow," Sakumo warily confessed through a mouthful of his morning porridge. His mother's back was turned towards him as she silently dried a dish. The news of her son's eminent departure did not turn her around.

"It should only take a week," he continued carefully, searching for any sign of an eminent explosion, but his mother continued drying as if he had not spoken. He had never seen her behave so calmly about him leaving, maybe she was finally getting use to…

"Where will you be going?" she asked, her back still turned.

"It's classified," he said.

The plate snapped in half.

Sakumo could have kicked himself. He had been lulled into a false sense of security thinking she had grown less over bearing. It was a rookie mistake.

"I'll ask again," she said turning to glare at him. "_Where_ are you going?"

"Mom," he sighed pitifully. "I can't tell you."

"Great. So when your team reports back that all they can find of you are little pieces, how will I know where to look?"

"What are you going to do with the little pieces of me?" The boy asked curiously, picturing his mother trying to put him together again like a puzzle.

His mother gave an exasperated sigh and pecked him on the cheek. In the eyes of the shinobi world he was an elite ninja and equal to most adults, but the fact remained, he was still a ten-year-old boy.

"You'll stay safe won't you?" She said pulling him into a hug despite his struggle. Since, his father's death the young boy had allowed her to coddle him a little more, but there was only so much he could be forced to endure.

"Of course." The boy shrugged away from her to return to his breakfast. She took the seat across from him. It had not escaped his notice that she never sat in Tobirama's seat anymore.

When he had been little they would play a silly game at the numerous meals his father was often absent from. She would start in her seat, filling his plate, then hers and finally one for his father's empty place. She would ask him what he did that day. Sakumo happily chattered back, describing how his training was progressing and how close he was to mastering the new jutsu Dad had taught him. She would nod proudly and then turn her head to the empty seat beside her.

"And how was your day, dear?" She would ask, staring with a perfect seriousness at the empty chair. Sakumo gave a short snigger, enjoying his mother's game. Quickly, she moved over to Tobirama's place. Her back straightened and her face took on a sterner look. In a voice far deeper then her own, she answered back to her now empty seat.

"It is very hard work to be the hokage. There are papers to sign and important people to meet. It's a miracle I made it home for dinner at all!" Sakumo watched in awe as she mirrored his father's movements perfectly, leaning back in her chair with arms crossed as Tobirama always had done. There was no doubt in his mind that his mother was born to perform.

She turned a stern eye in his direction. "And you, young man. What's taking you so long to master that jutsu? I gave it to you yesterday!"

Sakumo gave another delighted laugh before schooling his features into a more contrite look. "I'll get it soon father, I promise. Please don't beat me!"

His mother adopted an impervious expression, as if punishing him was beneath her. "Please, I am the hokage. I don't have _time_ to beat you."

"Of course, father," he said, bowing his head respectfully.

His mother continued in the deep voice. "But if you don't eat that eggplant you're trying to hide in your pocket, I am afraid your mother will be the one dishing out the beatings."

Sakumo's eyes widened in surprise. How did she notice?

His mother quickly slipped into her own chair, returning to her more relaxed pose. She gave him a mischievous wink, before taking a bite of her own eggplant. "You may be an elite shinobi, but remember, every trick you do—I've done first."

Sakumo closed his eyes miserably as he lifted a piece of eggplant to his mouth.

"You don't need to look like I am torturing you, you know," she said annoyed. "My cooking isn't _that_ bad."

"Agreed. You should have tasted it when we were first married," a voice chuckled from the end of the kitchen.

"Dad!" Sakumo shouted, dropping the offensive eggplant back onto the plate. "You're home!"

Tobirama ruffled his hair affectionately before taking his seat at the table.

"Welcome home," she smiled, leaning over to peck his cheek. Sakumo gave his obligatory gag of disgust.

Tobirama looked thoughtfully at his already filled plate. "Were you expecting me home so early?"

Sakumo tried to stop the short laugh from escaping but he was not quite fast enough. Saiya bowed her head a little to cover the smile that was threatening to give up their little game.

"It never hurts to be prepared," she managed finally, hoping he would not notice the nervous smile.

"Dad. Dad!" Sakumo said excitedly, obviously believing she had his father's attention for long enough. "Wait until you see how far I've come with the new jutsu you taught me. I've almost mastered it!"

"What's taking you so long to master that jutsu? I gave it to you yesterday." Tobirama asked flatly.

Sakumo gaped, a little taken aback. His father had never spoken to him like that before.

Tobirama gave a tired sigh, rubbing his temple. "If only I had the time to beat you properly."

Saiya and Sakumo stared dumbstruck at the white-haired shinobi who continued eating as if nothing had happened.

"How long were you standing there?" She asked horrified.

Tobirama gave her a rare mischievous smile. "Long enough."

Sakumo sighed unhappily. No his mother had not played that game for quite some time.

"Well since you're leaving tomorrow," his mother said in a carefully controlled tone. "How about you come to the market with me to pick out your favorite foods. I'll make something special tonight."

Sakumo thought about it carefully. He really should be training for the high-level mission tomorrow, but it was a rare occasion for his mother to take requests for dinner. Her rule had always been: you ate what she put in front of you—even if it was, at some times, inedible.

They walked slowly through the colorful market, taking in the deep scents of spices and savory meats. Sakumo watched lazily as his mother picked through the vegetables, silently grateful she was staying far away from the eggplants. The merchant's daughter came to the side of the stall to greet her and Sakumo watched with interest as they conversed.

He did not remember the first time he noticed his mother was so much different from the other women of the village, but as she stood so close to the merchant's daughter the contrasts were blatantly obvious. Her skin was so dark compared to the painstakingly, well-kept alabaster skin of the other women of the village. Her eyes were able to change in the sunlight from a beautifully, rich brown to a soft, melted gold while most of the women hear held on to their dark eyes. She kept her brown hair long and wild, held back only by a simple tied scarf, he could not remember her ever taking off. He had stupidly asked his father once if she was a kitsune because the only women he thought could compare to his mother were otherworldly. He did not think his father had ever laughed so hard in his life.

"Ready?" She asked, placing the tied vegetables neatly in her basket. "What kind of fish would you like, puppy?"

Sakumo blushed deeply; looking wildly around for anyone he might know, who would be in earshot to hear the childish nickname. "Mom," he groaned, sending up a grateful thanks that the street was mostly filled with strangers. She smiled down at him wickedly, before turning to walk to the next stall.

Perhaps if she had been a shinobi she would have been able to sidestep the man speeding towards her, but instead, they crashed against each other with a loud thud. Sakumo winced, knowing he should have been fast enough to stop the collision.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," the man apologized wildly, trying to steady his mother. She quickly found her balance and was already apologizing herself when she caught sight of her collider.

"Riku," she said happily, readjusting the scarf on her head.

"Saya," he replied jovially upon recognizing her. "I had begun to think you left the village and returned to your caravan."

Sakumo quirked an eyebrow in silent confusion. Why would he think the wife of one of the village founders would ever leave? And whatever made him think she belonged with a caravan?

"No," she said lightly. "Things have simply been busy."

"Well won't you join me for some tea? Uncle thinks he has discovered a new brew."

"I think we have time for a cup of tea, don't you Sakumo?"

Sakumo looked doubtfully up at the sun, which was already casting a long shadow. At this rate he wouldn't have time to practice, but his mother was already following the man to a little teashop nestled tightly between two tall buildings. And it would be a cold day in hell before Sakumo allowed his mother to walk alone with a strange man.

They pulled up chairs around a small, round table and the strange man quickly returned with a steaming pot.

"So is this handsome escort of yours a relation, princess?" He asked as he filled Sakumo's cup. Sakumo blinked at the man as if he were an exceptionally slow individual. Saiya knew that look all too well—it was a look Tobirama had often reserved for his brother—and Sakumo had mastered it perfectly.

"This is my son, Sakumo," she said slowly, waiting for the outburst of shock from the man and the inevitable loss of his friendship. But the man's uneven smile only widened and he held out a thin hand to the wary looking boy.

"Pleased to meet you, Sakumo. You can call me Riku," he said. Sakumo shook his hand although he made the same face he would if he were eating eggplant.

"So how old are you now, Sakumo. Twenty?" He asked good naturedly, as he steeped the brew. Sakumo, like most children, did not enjoy being patronized and Saiya could only watch helplessly as Riku was obliviously making a place for himself on the boy's blacklist.

"Ten," he answered curtly.

"Ten," Riku whistled in awe. She could just picture Sakumo slowly ticking the man to the top of the list.

"I suppose that must make you the man of the house," he continued, scratching his chin.

"Yes," Sakumo answered seriously. Did this man live under a rock? Who else did he think would be taking care of his mother?

"Sakumo," his mother interjected quickly. "I'm sure you need to train before your mission tomorrow. Why don't you go on ahead."

Sakumo looked undecidedly between his mother and the man who was still smiling like an idiot. Was training really important enough to leave his mother alone with this idiot?

"Go on," she insisted, making a shooing sign to the door. Sakumo reluctantly stood up.

"It was nice to meet you Sakumo," the man said genuinely. ""I hope we get to see each other again real soon."

His mother would have most likely smacked him if he voiced the opinion that the day he saw the man again would be a day too soon, so he wisely kept his mouth shut and left the little teashop for the practice field.

"Cute kid," he said, watching the boy leave.

"He's something," she agreed, stirring her tea nervously.

"You're not married are you?" He asked abruptly, a look of sudden panic dawning in his doe eyes.

"No," she answered honestly. "I'm a widow."

"Oh good," he sighed, then looked up wildly when he realized his mistake. "Not that it's good that your husband is dead or anything! I didn't mean—it's just that…"

"I understand what you meant," she interjected.

"I'm amazed you want to talk to me all," He sighed rubbing the back of his head. A frequent habit of his, she was beginning to realize.

"Why's that?"

"Why didn't you stop me when I was talking about shinobi the other day?"

"Why would I? You were just speaking your mind."

"But your kid is a ninja and I'm guessing his dad must have been one too, right?"

She nodded.

Another thought suddenly occurred to him and made him grow pale. "Your husband doesn't have any brothers that are going to come and beat me up for talking to you, does he?"

She snorted at the idea. "No. My husband does not have much family left."

"Oh good," he said relieved, then smacked a palm to his face when he realized he made the same mistake.

She waved it away with a laugh. "You know I was kind of nervous what you would think when you found out I had a child."

"I grew up with ten younger siblings," he said, resting his chin in his palm. "Kids don't bother me."

"Ten?" She repeated with awe. "Your poor mother."

"You mean poor me," he said. "Who do you think had to help raise the little terrors."

"A man who can raise ten children," she said in mock amazement. "And still you have found no wife. I am astounded."

"As well you should be," he agreed with a look of sincerest misery. "It is rather difficult to find a good wife around here. Where on earth did your husband find you?"

"In the feudal lord's palace," she answered truthfully.

"Let me guess," he said holding up a hand to stop her. "You went to the palace to seduce the great feudal lord but while you were there you quickly lost your heart to a dashing shinobi of the court."

"I think you missed your calling as a wandering minstrel," she laughed.

"Well is that not what happened?" He asked undoubtedly curious. She shook her head.

"It wasn't quite as dramatic as that," she said suddenly feeling uncomfortable. It was not something she liked to remember.

Riku must have noticed her discomfort and quickly shooed the subject away from the conversation. "Tell me what a gypsy princess likes to do for fun around here."

"Fun?" She repeated, as if she did not quite understand the meaning of the word.

"Sure," he shrugged excitedly. "What do people do for a bit of excitement?"

Most shinobi had enough of excitement from their long missions and enjoyed their peaceful nights in quite restaurants or the comfort of their homes, but as it happened the Sakura Festival would start the following week.

"The entire village comes," she explains. "There is food, and music and _dancing_. Do you dance?"

"If by dancing you mean flailing my arms around and tripping over my feet, then yes, I am a very accomplished dancer."

She gave a short laugh. "Then I think you will enjoy the festival."

"It's a date then," he blabbed quickly.

Saiya blinked in surprise, her mind trying to follow the words. She wanted to ask if she had heard him correctly, but his uncle growled for him to help with a large order of tea and Riku swiftly left the table before she could get a word out.

"I'll see you there," he said over his shoulder with a wink.

AbAbAbAbAbAbAbAbAbAbAbAbAbAbAbAb

"She has begun to frequent a little tea shop, lately. Usually stays there for about an hour or so and then returns home." The anbu reported through his bear shaped mask. Homura and Koharu exchanged curious glances.

"So would you say she has stopped wandering the village like a mad-woman?" Danzo asked gruffly.

"It has become less frequent," the mask admitted. Danzo looked expectantly to Hiruzen for his opinion on the sudden change in behavior of his teacher's wife.

Sarutobi took a long drag from his pipe. He did not like the idea of spying on Saiya but Danzo had insisted upon it, for her own safety.

"I should think you would be happy," Hiruzen said watching the puffs of smoke that escaped his mouth. "She's not wandering around the village anymore like a mad-woman, as you put it. Perhaps she has found closure."

"Or she has found a clever trap set by our enemies."

"I have another wild idea," the hokage said dryly. "Perhaps she has simply developed a fondness for tea."

"I'm not so sure it's the tea, Lord Hokage," the anbu interjected politely. "She usually ends up talking with one of the men who works there. Hatake Riku. He's the nephew of the shop owner, Hatake Akira. Recently moved here from the outskirt farmlands."

"What do they talk about?" Homura inquired.

"I'm afraid we can't get close enough to listen in without being spotted."

"What kind of shinobi can't even spy properly in his own village?" Danzo grumbled harshly.

"You've done well, Bear," The hokage said quickly by way of dismissal. The shinobi disappeared with a short bow.

"This is very troubling," Danzo said ominously, folding his arms into his sleeves.

"You are thinking too deeply about this," Hiruzen mumbled through his pipe.

"I have said it before and I shall say it again," Danzo lectured harshly. "That woman is in no position to look after the Second's son. She is not _stable_. She is not a trained shinobi, she is simply a waif the hokage happened upon on the street!"

"ENOUGH!" Hiruzen roared, suddenly. It was a well-known fact that Hiruzen was a man slow to anger, but he could never tolerate any attack against his sensei or his wife. "Saiya is a fit and capable mother. The suggestion that you would take a child from his mother is abominable."

"But you must admit Sakumo is hardly a normal child," Homura interjected, readjusting his glasses. "He is a capable shinobi—capable enough that you entrusted him with the mission in Cloud Country, Lord Hokage."

The hokage frowned distastefully over the mission he had been forced to give the young boy. There had been whispered accusations the hokage had been coddling the boy with safer missions, despite the fact the village was on the brink of war. He would never be able to forgive himself if he was the one who ordered his teacher's son to his death.

"Regardless," he said, finally. "I will hear no more talk of removing Sakumo from his mother's care."

"If you insist," Koharu sighed, standing up to leave. The other two men followed.

Sarutobi gave a grateful nod before returning his attention to the large pile of paperwork strewn over his desk. He lifted a mission report to read but his mind was miles away, wondering who this man was that had captured Saiya's attention.

Well? What are your thoughts so far?


End file.
